


at least it's better than average

by pettigrace



Series: might have a problem that you'll understand [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Best Friends, Character Study, Childhood Friends, DCTVGenPromptathon, DCTVGenPromptathon2019, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Pre-Canon, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21560158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettigrace/pseuds/pettigrace
Summary: Tommy learns of the Queen's Gambit's shipwreck.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Laurel Lance (side), Oliver Queen/Sara Lance (side), Tommy Merlyn & Oliver Queen
Series: might have a problem that you'll understand [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557994
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32
Collections: DCTVGen Promptathon





	at least it's better than average

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ballycastle_Bat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballycastle_Bat/gifts).



> Hello and welcome!!
> 
> This is my contribution to one of the prompts in [dctvgen](https://dctvgen.tumblr.com/)'s promptathon. I'm filling Ballycastle_bat's prompt. I hope you like it!
> 
> Sadly I did not remember if we had any canon references as to how Tommy learnt of Oliver's "death", so I'm free-styling here.
> 
> The title is from Jason Mraz' "Song for a Friend"!

Tommy huffs softly as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Again. He isn’t too surprised to find it without any notification – well, that’s not entirely true, there’s plenty messages, most of them from girls demanding a date or a hook-up or maybe both and then some party invitations because there’s always a party going on. But there isn’t any text he’s really been waiting for: namely, one from Oliver.

It’s not like he misses the guy. A little cruise isn’t really anything special; both of them have been out of Starling for way longer at times, so Oliver being on a boat for a few weeks means nothing. Really, Tommy enjoys the time without having to see his ugly mug for once.

The thing is, though, Oliver had promised to send him pictures. Just about anything, really – locations, gals, beaches, animals. All that stuff. Ollie had promised to send him so many snaps that it would feel like Tommy was with him. Which he would have been if it weren’t for his father and the stupid fundraiser he randomly organized (and demanded that Tommy attended, no matter what excuses he came up with).

Because if anyone deserves to be on the boat with the Queens, then it’s him. Not Sara, who’s only there for a little sexy get-away anyway. Nobody even knows that she _is_ on the boat, safe for him and Ollie! If it weren’t such a little trip, it would even hurt Tommy’s ego that Oliver smuggled her in so easily while he didn’t even try to do so for Tommy. Hell, he didn’t even join his arguing with Malcolm. Fucking asshole of a best friend.

But then, he could take such a trip any day of his life if he wanted to. It makes no sense to feel so bumped over this, he decides. Let Oliver have his little field trip into the lower regions of the small Lance.

If only Oliver kept his promise of keeping him entertained. Because Starling seems dull in contrast to such a party boat, exotic ladies and even more exotic drinks and drugs.

Well, it looks like he’s got to make do with what he has. He’s got more than one friend; he can have his own fun if Ollie forgets about him. Still, he texts Laurel just to make sure whether the bastard forgets about _everyone_ at least and not just him.

-

“Makes me wonder what dear Moira wants with the two of us there,” Tommy says, leaning back on the couch that’s quite unfamiliar to him. This isn’t the lounging room the Queens prefer, where they spent their private evenings together that he has been part of more often than he can count. It’s odd that Raisa would lead them here to wait for Moira, but maybe she hasn’t gotten around to clean the other room yet. Who knows how wild the Queen ladies get when they guys are out of the house.

Laurel’s almost as unused to the room as him, which makes sense. She sits on the edge of the cushion with her back straight as if she were anxiously waiting for something. Maybe she _is_ anxious; he’s actually not quite sure if Moira and Laurel get along or not. It could be that she’s considered of too low a status for someone like Oliver or some nonsense like that. He catches his dad talk like that a few times, at least.

“Maybe she wants to organize a welcome home party,” Laurel answers. Her voice isn’t exactly full of sarcasm, but it doesn’t sound like she’s convinced of her words either. She lets out a sigh as her eyes dart up to the clock on the wall.

The thought has crossed his mind, too, actually, even if just for a split second. If Moira _were_ to host such a thing, she’d never ask for Tommy’s input. It would be all sophisticated and stuck up until he manages to drag Oliver out into a club. That’s how it always goes and he’s pretty sure she’s aware of that. Although starting to plan this so early – if he remembers correctly, they’re just past China at this point – would fit to her, he’s gotta give Laurel that.

He hasn’t spent too much time wondering about why he’s supposed to come here anyway. Moira will tell him early enough, he figures. Though he has an idea what it could be, with Laurel being here, too, and if he’s right, then this whole thing could get ugly really soon. It’s been stupid to think Sara’s being on the boat would get unnoticed anyway, given what a close proximity a floating vehicle is no matter the size. Oh damn, maybe he shouldn’t have taken the seat right next to Laurel. Does she lash out physically when she’s upset? He has no idea.

He slides a bit to the side, widening the space between them subtly. When Walter called, inviting him in Moira’s name, he hadn’t thought of strapping on some safety cushions, so sue him. He hadn’t even _known_ Laurel would show up, too. If she notices, then she does a good job at hiding it. Instead, she doesn’t move at all.

“Could be,” he answers for good measure. He’s not sure what else to say, really. And he’s never been particularly close with Laurel herself – if he has spent time with her, then Oliver has been around, too -, so he feels slightly awkward to be stuffed into the same room with her without any explanations. She doesn’t seem to be up for much small talk either, so one of his best qualities is out of the picture then.

It takes a while longer until Walter enters the room, followed by Moira. No, that’s not right. It almost looks like he _shields_ her, as if he were a bodyguard and they were paparazzi. The only difference is that neither of them looks pissed off – it’s a guarded expression on Moira’s face, like always, but there’s something else, too. She looks paler and more tired than usual, her eyes quite… haunted. As if she’d seen a ghost.

An uneasy feeling makes its nest inside Tommy’s chest. He doesn’t know what has caused the expression, what he is supposed to be fearing, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he _does_ and that Moira’s slowly sinking down across from them doesn’t help.

Maybe it’s not the expression in itself, not just the vulnerability it conveys, but the fact that Tommy has never seen her like this. The Moira he knows is collected and stoic and wears a pissed off expression whenever she sees him, already annoyed by a ploy he hasn’t even thought up yet. Right not, he _wishes_ she’d look at him like that because then he’d know what to expect. How to react. What to do.

“Tommy,” she starts, her voice weak and eye wide. She doesn’t hold his gaze for long. “Laurel,” she says and looks over to her. She swallows.

Tommy opens his mouth, wants to say something, but he wouldn’t know what. The nest has moved up to his throat, keeping any sounds to itself.

“I’m—” She cuts herself off right away. At a loss for words, so unlike the way she presents herself at all times.

Tommy can’t move.

“There’s been—” Her voice breaks, even though it was barely above a whisper in the first place. In the next moment, she buries her face in her hands.

He stares at the backside of her hair and or a brief moment he wonders if he’s ever seen that—

“Moira?” Laurel’s voice is thin but pressing and there’s a sound coming from her that sounds like she’s shifting in her seat, like she’s about to get up. Tommy wouldn’t know, he can’t look at her. Has she been moving the whole time? He doesn’t know.

Moira doesn’t hear her. Or maybe she does. But she doesn’t react.

Walter pushes forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. His face is firm and serious as he looks at Laurel first, and then Tommy, and settles in a space between them.

“There’s been an accident,” he says.

An accident. There’s always accidents. It’s common for a big city, why should he care about that?

“The Queen’s Gambit—”

The boat.

Where Oliver is.

“—the remains—”

The remains?

The nest scratches against his throat, finding its way to his head, closing his ears.

“We don’t know—” Walter says.

What don’t they know?

“It’s a possibility.”

Tommy hasn’t heard, the blood rushing in his ears too loudly. But he doesn’t need to.

_It’s a possibility._

A possibility that Oliver—

That Oliver—

He can’t even think it.

But he knows what Walter is saying. The nest, he realizes now, isn’t new. The bird just came back now, after all the years since he lost his mother.

First her.

Now Oliver.

Next to him, Laurel has started crying. Walter says something and she makes a sound, a horrible one that’s muffled to his ears, and he can figure what she just learnt.

Sara.

What about Robert?

He can’t open his mouth; if he did, it wouldn’t be words that tumble out. He knows that.

Walter says some more, Tommy watches his lips open and close, but he doesn’t understand anything. He’s leant against the couch, Laurel trembling next to him, almost mirroring Moira if it weren’t for the fact that where she moves, the other woman is stiff, and tries to keep his thoughts straight.

Oliver was on a freaking cruise, partying wherever he could. There wasn’t any talk about any upcoming storms—not as far as he remembers. Though, right now, that isn’t much.

 _Presumed_ , echoes in his ear.

 _Possibility_.

The words keep echoing through his head, tuning out all sounds and thoughts and feelings.

There’s no guarantee.

It doesn’t have to be true.

It _isn’t_ true.

Everyone stops suddenly, looking at him. Six misty eyes, tired eyes, all focused on him when he’s finally spoken up.

He has said it before he realized, the only thing connecting him to it is the scratch in his throat.

“He’s too much of a lucky bastard for that.”

Despite herself, Moira can’t keep her lips from twitching into a small smile. Her eyes are wet, her cheeks bloated, her heart broken, and yet she nods at him.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Please leave a comment!**  
>  If you liked this, come check out my [tumblr](http://joanthangroff.tumblr.com) or talk to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/Ll4MDUNBAR).


End file.
